


A Destination Full of Hope

by estelraca



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, F/M, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-25
Updated: 2017-12-25
Packaged: 2019-02-19 21:36:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,970
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13132710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/estelraca/pseuds/estelraca
Summary: When they find out that the Empire is attempting to build another Death Star, Rogue One is of course quick to volunteer for combat.





	A Destination Full of Hope

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Syrena_of_the_lake](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Syrena_of_the_lake/gifts).



> I also adore the Rogue One movie, and love trying to imagine the team if they had survived. I hope that you enjoy this take on what the Battle of Endor might have been like for them.

_A Destination Full of Hope_

The little ship comes screaming out of hyperspace, broadcasting on all rebel frequencies.

Cassian hurries to start recording, cursing quietly under his breath. Their current encryption hasn't been broken, to their knowledge, but it's still—

The Imperial Star Destroyer drops to sublight and hangs suspended for almost half a minute—long enough for the crew to scan the surrounding system. Long enough for everyone surrounding the smuggler's paradise to start realizing something is going on.

Long enough for the scanner crew of the Destroyer to correctly identify the vessel they were chasing, and Cassian watches helplessly as laser cannons destroy the ship and all aboard.

He has the information they brought. He has the information they _bought_ , paying a price more dear than he had hoped. He'll be able to get it where it needs to go—his isn't the only ship taking for hyperspace, and the Imperials haven't had enough to time to scan and identify everyone here. Whatever information was so important, Cassian will get it to the rebellion.

Force grant that it's worth the cost that's been paid to get it.

XXX

"They're building another Death Star."

Cassian watches his team as he makes the announcement. The first thing he asked General Organa when he handed over the intel was that he be allowed to tell his people. They'll be discreet, keeping the information to themselves until rebel command decides to make it public. But they, out of all people, deserve to know what's happening.

"They're—" Bodhi comes to his feet, head jerking left and right to study Jyn and Chirrut. "How could they? _Why_ would they? After Scarif—after Alderaan—"

Cassian moves forward, reaching out to put a comforting hand on Bodhi's shoulder. "They want to repeat what happened to Alderaan. They want to keep the galaxy scared, because we're getting close to a tipping point."

Jyn's lips are pressed together into a thin line, her eyes burning with hatred. "How dare they."

"Of course they dare." Chirrut alone seems serene, despite having been one of the ones hurt worst at Scarif. "They thrive on blood and death and fear, and the Death Star delivered all three in quantities during its short operational duration."

"We're going to shut it down." It's not a question, not a request. Jyn meets Cassian's eyes evenly, and the set of her shoulders relaxes a bit as she repeats herself. "We're going to shut it down."

"That's certainly what the rebellion intends to do." Cassian returns to his seat, smiling at Jyn, watching as Bodhi begins to pace the small room. "It's just a matter of deciding how best to go about it. And who to send."

"Us, of course." Jyn gives her head a little shake, resettling her short-cropped bangs. "Who else would they choose?"

Cassian shrugs. "Skywalker's brought back Solo. Calrissian's a good commander, keeps getting himself promoted. Lots of options out there, really."

"But none who've faced what we have." Jyn doesn't pace like Bodhi. She doesn't need to. Just standing allows the fierce, grim certainty rolling off her to be obvious.

"I know." Cassian speaks quietly, gently. He will never forget Scarif—never lose a single second's worth of memory, all of it etched like fire onto the bones of his soul.

"We'll go where we're needed." Chirrut reaches back to take Baze's hand, giving it a gentle squeeze despite the fact that Baze hasn't moved or made a sound. "That's what we've been doing so far, and the Force hasn't steered us wrong."

"I just..." Bodhi pauses. "Making _one_ Death Star was terrible enough. Destroying _one_ planet."

There were a few good things that came out of Scarif—Cassian feels that he was given a second start, somewhere in the cleansing fire and blood. But he will always be grateful he was too badly injured after the fight to know that Leia had been captured, that Alderaan had been destroyed, until after Skywalker had saved the day.

Cassian doesn't get a chance to answer. Jyn slings her arm around the pilot's shoulders, giving him a tight hug. "It's going to be all right, Bodhi. We'll figure out how to blow this one up, too."

They hadn't been involved in the Battle of Yavin. Not in any useful capacity, anyway—Cassian and Chirrut had been comatose, K-2 had been a stashed set of data chips, Bodhi was a burned mess, and Jyn had barely been able to walk. But it still feels like _their_ battle, in retrospect—the battle that they made possible, the victory that they sacrificed so much to offer to the stuttering Rebellion.

And now there's another Death Star. Cassian sweeps his gaze across the room, taking in Chirrut with Baze as his silent looming shadow, Jyn and Bodhi, K-2 leaning against the wall. "I'll keep you apprised of what the plan is. And we'll decide what we want to do when we know what needs to be done."

There are murmurs of agreement, and then Jyn is reaching out to draw Cassian into her orbit, slipping her arm around his waist. He goes to her easily, lets her guide him as his crew makes their way towards the mess room.

No matter what the Empire has planned, Cassian knows they'll do whatever is needed to counter it.

XXX

Jyn paces through the halls of the rebellion's base, trying not to startle at every unexpected noise. There are other people about—there always are. Whether it's improvising ways to keep their equipment functioning, training new recruits, analyzing Imperial targets, providing protection, or a thousand other little things, there's always something for someone to be doing in the rebellion.

Except for Jyn, right now. There will soon _be_ something for her to do—volunteers have been asked for, and Jyn and the rest of Rogue One were quick to step up. But for right now, for one more night while everything is arranged, Jyn is left to haunt the rebel base like a ghost.

She doesn't want to be around other people now, but she doesn't want to risk going off-base. She could spend the time with her crew—she _will_ spend some of the time with her crew, later. Cassian will do better if she spends at least a portion of tonight with him, providing the tactile contact that he appreciates so much. And Bodhi will need someone to distract him from his nerves and his thoughts.

But for now, Jyn just needs to _move_ , and so she hauls herself up into the rafters. There are catwalks and beams and wires forming a tangled jungle, and fewer people to give her questioning looks.

She hadn't expected to find someone else.

She definitely hadn't been prepared to find General Leia Organa with tears on her face.

Leia glares daggers at Jyn, her cheeks red, her lips pulled back from her teeth. Her voice is rough and low. "At ease, captain."

Jyn hadn't saluted, but she relaxes anyway, taking a tentative step closer to where Leia has ensconced herself in a corner. "Hi."

A faint smile touches Leia's face. "Hi. I'm glad you and your team are coming to Endor."

They're not _technically_ Jyn's team. Cassian outranks her, still, despite how volatile his rank was following Scarif. But Jyn is Rogue One's field commander, a fact Cassian doesn't seem to mind, and Jyn is Rogue One's defender against those who question their ethics or actions, and she rather _likes_ having people refer to them as her team. "We couldn't do anything else."

"You could." Leia's smile returns, a little stronger. "There are lots of people who choose to do nothing. To turn a blind eye. Even in the rebellion, there are those who can't or won't face something like the Death Star."

"Some of them..." Jyn hesitates, groping for the words—remembering the haunted look in Bodhi's eyes when they finally returned to Jedha, the terrible grief that Baze took out on unit after unit of stormtroopers. "Some of them really can't. Face it again, I mean. Because of things that have happened."

"I know." Leia sighs, leaning back against the wall, her feet tucked up under her body, making her look younger than Jyn thinks she's ever seen her. "And I try not to blame them. I know everyone responds to trauma differently. And anyone who stands with us against the Empire is a friend. I just..."

Jyn tries to find a clear place of her own to settle down amidst the wires, where she'll have some support for her back and less of a chance of falling. "You're just angry."

Leia glances sidelong at Jyn, head tilting. "That's not what most people would have said."

"Maybe not." Jyn shrugs, not meeting Leia's eyes. "But it's what I am. I'm furious that they're still trying to use my father's work to murder people. Worlds. Cultures. _Hope_. That they're using something that was precious to Chirrut, something he and Baze held sacred, to try to drive all sentients to their knees before the Imperial army. I'm so angry it _hurts_ , sometimes. And the only way to make that anger better is to do something—to go out on a mission. To climb up into the rafters."

Leia looks down at her hands. "I knew there was a reason I liked you." Raising her head, Leia meets Jyn's eyes evenly. "You're right. I'm furious. I'm so angry I feel like I could explode. When we managed to get Han back, I thought... I thought things were maybe turning around. That our luck was changing. But then we come back and I hear that the Empire's building _another Death Star_." Leia's hands are shaking minutely. "Someone watched the destruction of Alderaan—and Jedha, and Scarif, I don't mean to forget them—and thought _yes, this is what we should do_." Leia swallows. "Someone watched my home burn. Watched my parents and billions of other innocents die. And thought _yes, exactly, this_."

"And we'll make them pay for that." Jyn leans towards Leia. "That's what the Rebellion is about. About restoring freedom, yes, and hope, yes, and finding a better way. But part of that better way is finding the people who would do something like this and hitting them with everything we've got."

Leia's hands are clenched into tight fists. "And if that isn't enough?"

"Then we get up and hit them again. And again, and again." Jyn reaches out slowly, hesitantly, to set her hand atop Leia's. Being this forward with one of the leaders of the rebellion isn't something she would normally do, but Leia looks too much like Jyn right now for her to resist. "We make one man into a hundred, and we keep fighting until hope is gone."

Leia exhales slowly, and her hand relaxes, her fingers turning to twine with Jyn's. "I know that. It's... my father... it's what I've been doing for the last four years. But sometimes it helps to hear someone else say it."

"Yeah." Jyn smiles. "Sometimes it does."

"I'm sorry." Leia reaches up with her free hand to scrub at her tear-streaked face. "You shouldn't have to see your commander like this."

"Eh." Jyn shrugs. "Not too many people come up here. It was just bad luck I found you."

"Or good luck." Leia gives Jyn's hand a squeeze. "Which we'll need more of. May the Force be with you tomorrow, Jyn Erso."

"Same with you, General Organa." Jyn stands up, recognizing a dismissal. She hesitates before walking away, though. "Are you... tonight, do you have—"

Leia stands, too. "Han and Luke will be waiting for me, I'm sure. Possibly Lando, too. And I'm fine, really. I just... needed to decompress for a few minutes where it wouldn't panic anyone."

"Glad you got the opportunity to, then." Jyn gives a tiny salute. "Good night, general."

"Good night, captain."

Jyn descends to ground level, heading for her team's room. When she gets there she puts her arms around Cassian, hugging him tight.

Cassian rests his head against her shoulder, curling into the contact, and Jyn prays to the ghosts of her parents that they will all walk away from this fight in one piece.

XXX

"You don't have to go."

K-2SO watches Cassian as his human checks his blaster before holstering it. Cassian doesn't turn to look at K-2.

Taking another step closer to Cassian, K-2 repeats himself, something he would do for very few people. "You don't have to go to Endor. You're not an infantryman or a fighter pilot."

The last time Cassian worked to take down a Death Star, he ended up almost dead. It had taken over a month of medical treatment and physical therapy to get Cassian back into fighting shape—a month during which Cassian drove himself brutally. K-2 had only been there for the latter half of it, having needed a new body following Scarif, but what he saw had been terrible enough.

(Scarif had been terrible enough. K-2 isn't scared of dying, if droids can even be said to die. But he doesn't want to leave Cassian behind. He doesn't want to imagine Cassian facing all of the horrors they've had to face without K-2 beside him. He doesn't want to think of Cassian surviving while other members of Rogue One die, because it will devastate his human. And he doesn't want to imagine outliving Cassian, though he knows that's a possibility. So perhaps he _is_ afraid of dying, now, in a way that he hadn't been before Scarif. And perhaps he is capable of hate, because he hates that the Empire has managed to make him afraid.)

Cassian just continues to prep his gear, a methodical checking and packing of his equipment. Lock picks in his boots. Poison sewn into his jacket. Empty data chips and encryption chips. Weapons. Clothing, Imperial uniforms and Rebel uniforms and casual clothing all neatly folded into a duffel.

"You're a _spymaster_ , Cassian." K-2 knows that Cassian is sometimes uncomfortable in his new position, though he's incredibly good at it. "You work best from a distance. What good is it going to do for you to be on the field?"

"I may be able to provide information that they need." Cassian looks up at K-2, pausing finally in his work. "And despite being a spy, I am still a good shot. A good and useful soldier. I wasn't promoted because I'm no longer capable of field work, and this won't be the first time I've gone out this year."

"I know that. It's just..." K-2 hesitates, trying to think of an argument that will work on Cassian. "You'll be of more use to the rebellion if you stay out of the line of fire."

"If we don't manage to take down this Death Star, there won't be much of a universe to have a rebellion in." Cassian stands, moving so that he's right in front of K-2, looking up into K-2's glowing optics with that earnest, determined expression K-2 has come to know so well. "We know that, Kaytoo. We know that they will use their weapon, again and again and again, until we stop it."

Cassian has never forgiven himself for Alderaan. He's been better about taking the blame since Scarif—he's been better about a lot of things since Scarif, and K-2 thinks he would love Jyn and Bodhi and the others for that alone—but K-2 will still sometimes wake Cassian from nightmares of Alderaan burning. _If I hadn't agreed to kill Galen..._ , Kaytoo has heard whispered into his chassis, or _if I had put together a team faster_ , or _if I had managed to convince Draven or the Council_...

Cassian knows that Alderaan wasn't his fault, just as he knows that the difficult decisions he's made over the years—the lives that he's taken, the deeds he's performed that he would rather not have—were done out of necessity. (He has been different about necessity since Scarif. He will no longer kill contacts, no matter how dire the situation. It has resulted in quite a few carbon scarring marks on K-2, but so far everyone has walked away. K-2 knows that Draven doesn't approve, that he and Cassian have discussed it several times. So far as K-2 is concerned, if Cassian risking his life more directly means fewer nightmares and less stupid semi-suicidal moves (fewer times K-2 walks onto a shuttle to find Cassian staring into the barrel of a weapon), then K-2 will tolerate it.)

"It doesn't have to be _you_ who stops it." K-2 suspects his protests are pointless, but he still has to try.

"It doesn't." Cassian lifts his bag and places it in K-2's hands. "But it does. Because why _not_ me?"

"I just got done telling you why not. Were you not listening?"

Cassian smiles. "Jyn's going. So are the others."

And that clinches matters, in the end. If Jyn is going, then Cassian will go; if the rest of Rogue One is going, then asking Cassian to stay behind is cruel.

"Though you don't have to come if you—"

K-2 swings Cassian's pack easily onto his back. "When are we leaving, and what precisely are our mission parameters?"

Cassian rests his hand against K-2's chassis for just a moment, and the gratitude on his face is raw and obvious. Then Cassian is walking past K-2, detailing their portion of the mission.

"I would have wanted to go, you know." K-2 slips the addendum into a pause while Cassian draws breath. "If the others are going to stupidly risk their lives, I wish to go. It's just _you_..."

"I understand, Kay." Cassian gives a brisk nod. "Now, once we're down on the planet, it's important that we coordinate with Solo and his team. The most imperative objective is to get the shield down. If we can manage that, then there's hope—this will be a much easier run for our fighter pilots than on the completed Death Star."

Cassian continues, and K-2 records everything, intending to peruse it at his leisure once he's downloaded a map of their target area. Then he can give Cassian suggestions on what to do and how to improve their odds, because Rogue One coming back alive is what matters most.

XXX

"Why are we doing this?"

Chirrut smiles when Baze asks the question. He's been waiting for it since last night, but Baze has been stubborn about giving voice to his thoughts. Alone and prepping the shuttle for their mission, though, curiosity has apparently gotten the better of him. "Because someone has to."

Baze sighs. "Are we really going to do this now?"

"Answer your questions honestly? I do always try to do that." Chirrut doesn't dodge when Baze comes up behind him and grabs him by the shoulder, drawing Chirrut into a loose embrace. Reaching up to pat Baze's arm, Chirrut relents. "We're doing this because it's the right thing to do. Because our home burned. Because a Death Star can't be allowed to exist. Because our teammates are going. And yes, because I feel that something _more_ is going to happen here. Don't you?"

After three or four seconds Baze gives a noncommittal grunt.

Chirrut turns, rapping his knuckles against Baze's armored chest. "I know you've been feeling more lately. Allowing yourself to open up to the Force again as we've been practicing with Luke."

"As _you've_ been practicing with Luke." Baze takes a step back, away from Chirrut's intensity. "And you've always been better at sensing things than I have. More attuned to the actual Force."

"Not true, but not worth arguing about right now. Those aren't the scars in danger of being ripped open, I don't think." Chirrut closes his eyes, tilting his head back and allowing his sense of the Force to expand again. It doesn't always work, still—he will never be a Jedi—but years of practicing with Skywalker have helped him hone a skill that had been weakened by battle and pain and neglect. "Can you really not feel it? A tension in the Force, like the charge building before a lightning strike?"

"I've felt..." Baze speaks slowly, hesitantly. He still doesn't trust his sense of the Force, another crime and loss to lay at the Empire's feet. "Something since Luke came back. I thought it was something with him. With the battle against Jabba, and getting his friend back."

"It is something with him. But it's more than just Luke learning to fight as a Jedi." Learning to be the impossible—learning to be connected with life as he works to end it. "There will be a battle, I think, that transcends the one against the Death Star. And I want to be there if we're needed. If we can provide any small assistance, any weights on the scales, I want to do so."

Baze has come up behind Chirrut again, and he reaches out to touch Chirrut's shoulder. "Luke is... well. He's a good kid. If he has a trial coming up, I think he's going to pass it just fine."

"I hope so." Chirrut reaches up to lay his hand atop Baze's. "But if he doesn't, we'll help him heal. Recover."

_Die_ , Chirrut hears in the silence as Baze touches his rifle. _If he falls to the darkness, we'll help him die._

It's not something Chirrut wants to contemplate—not something he thinks they _need_ to contemplate, but he knows all too well the scars and betrayals that make Baze's mind head to the darkest of places.

"Do you think this will be the last time?" Baze brushes by Chirrut, heading for the shuttle's cockpit. "I mean, if we succeed in blowing this one up. Seems stupid to keep putting so much money into planet-killers if we don't let them use them for long."

"Yes." Chirrut leans against the shuttle wall, out of the way. "I think, if we win this, it will be a death knell for the Empire."

"Then let's go rustle up our pilot and the rest of our crew." Baze claps Chirrut on the shoulder as he pushes past him once more. "I'm ready for this to be over."

Chirrut isn't sure that's true—they haven't talked about what they'll do when the war is really over, about where they'll go or who they'll try to become—but since he also wants this battle to be joined and finished, he follows Baze without complaint.

They can decide on a future once they're sure they'll actually have one.

XXX

Bodhi holds his breath as he angles his shuttle down, breaking off from Solo's party once they've hit atmosphere.

He can't see the skeletal Death Star anymore, but he can still feel it, looming above them. He can see its shadow, even when it isn't properly aligned with the sun to even cast one.

_I'm sorry, Galen_. Bodhi doesn't even know what he's sorry for. They did everything they could. They went to Scarif. He almost _died_ at Scarif, as did the rest of his crew—his _friends_ , these last four years. The people who have helped him redefine himself, kept him sane amidst the loss and horror of galactic war.

And yet here they are, trying to take down _another_ Death Star, fighting another misuse of Galen's work.

"You can relax now, Bodhi." Cassian speaks gently from the co-pilot's seat. "If we were going to be shot down, it would have happened by now. We'll make the insertion point."

"Which decreases our probability of death to only seventy-nine point six percent." K-2's voice comes from the cabin, where he's been sulking ever since he and Cassian fought over the co-pilot's seat and Cassian won. "Eighty-two point five if we include scenarios where we're captured and executed more than three days later."

"Thank you, Kaytoo." Cassian turns to look at his droid. "Would you like to be helpful now?"

"I was _trying_ to be helpful but you insisted you were the better pilot despite empirical evidence to the contrary." K-2 comes forward, though, looking over Cassian's shoulder.

Bodhi shares a smile with Jyn as Cassian and K-2 begin discussing some element of their infiltration of the Imperial base.

They shouldn't be here. _No one_ should be here, because no one should have thought making another Death Star was all right.

But if Bodhi has to be here—and he does, if someone is using Death Star technology—then there's no one else he'd rather be here with.

With this crew, at least, he has a chance of succeeding and surviving.

XXX

Two battles rage, and Chirrut tries hard to follow each of them.

The one he's participating in, of course, has to get the majority of his attention. He can't risk his distraction getting Baze or Bodhi or one of the others killed. But between their crew and Solo's, it isn't hard to secure the shield generator station, leaving the Death Star vulnerable to attack.

The Death Star where something dark and evil sits, a poisoned thorn at the center of a terrible web. Chirrut has never been this close to the Emperor before—this close to a _Sith_ before—but he has no doubt as to what he's sensing.

Just as he has no doubt when it's Luke's light that he senses, flashing out again and again to try to shred the strands of darkness.

_We are here_ , Chirrut tries to call into the Force. _Leia, Han, myself, Baze—we are here, and we will help you._

Chirrut is no Jedi. Leia would be stronger than he is, he thinks, if Leia were to somehow carve out the time to study use of the Force. But he is here, and he cares, and perhaps that will be enough to help shift the balance.

_Let hope win out._ He sends the silent prayer out into the universe as his staff cracks a stormtrooper's helmet open. _Let light win out._

His echobox and the Force combine to give him a sense of where his people are in the chaos of battle—Jyn and Cassian fighting back to back; K-2 moving through the ranks of the enemy like a battering ram of old; Baze behind and to Chirrut's side, guarding his back; Bodhi sniping from a distance.

_Let love win out_ , he prays, and knows deep in his heart that the universe—that _Luke—_ hears.

XXX

They won.

Not only did they win, they killed the _Emperor_. They struck a blow so deep to the Empire today that it will likely never recover. And the cost was far lower than any of them had been afraid it would be.

Jyn throws herself into the festivities without restraint, dancing with fellow rebels and the small natives with equal abandon.

They _won_ , unequivocally, and her team took only minor injuries, and Jyn laughs as she watches the sparks of the bonfire twirl up into the air.

Cassian is watching her when her eyes move back down towards the ground. He is smiling slightly, his dark eyes and handsome face thrown into sharp edges of light and shadow by the bonfire. He has a drink in one hand, and his coat is slightly askew, but he still looks far too dour for the rest of the celebration.

Jyn moves to his side, snagging another drink on her way. She isn't drunk yet, but she can feel the faint buzz of the alcohol she's consumed, feel the flush of it in her cheeks. She bumps her shoulder against Cassian's. "Hey. Guess what?"

Cassian's smile widens, and when he speaks his accent is fully on display. "I'm not sure it's safe to play guessing games with you."

"Depends." Jyn takes a sip of her drink, trying to push away her memories of the fighting. She's a good fighter—still, just like she was when Saw trained her. And she will never get away from Saw, carrying him with her into every battle, hearing his voice in her head every time she has to make tactical decisions. Sometimes it's a blessing; sometimes it's a curse; at other times she just accepts it as the way things will always be. "On the who and the where and the why of the guessing game. But I won't make you guess this time. It wouldn't be hard to figure out anyway, not for a smart intelligence officer like you." Jyn reaches out to cover his hand with hers. "We _won_."

Cassian glances around the celebration. "You're right. I did notice."

"Really?" Jyn takes another sip of her drink. "Because you don't exactly look like it. We might have just _won the war_ , Cassian."

"We haven't." Cassian's fingers lace through hers, and he sounds almost apologetic as he contradicts her. "We've come a step closer to it, especially if Luke's right and the Emperor is dead. But we haven't won anything. Someone will try to step into the power vacuum. And likely fail, because Palpatine never designed his power to be inherited, the structure to be stable without him. But that will mean fighting a dozen petty warlords as the Empire splinters." Cassian's fingers squeeze hers hard, the smile disappearing from his face. "We still have a long road ahead of us."

"But still." Jyn squints up at Cassian, a puzzled frown playing around her mouth. "This is a good thing. This victory is a good thing. So why aren't you celebrating it?"

"I am." Cassian lifts his mostly-full glass. "I'm here. I'm celebrating."

Jyn catches a glimpse of Bodhi twirling by in the midst of a group of laughing fighter pilots. " _That_ is celebrating. _That_ is having a good time. I don't know what you're doing, but it isn't that."

"Everyone celebrates in their own ways." Cassian's arm slips around her, giving her a quick hug. "Now look—why don't we join one of these dances?"

Cassian guides her expertly into the center of one of the group dances, and for a few minutes Jyn is lost in the music, the motion, the rhythms of the rebel victory. When she thinks to look up and search for Cassian, he's managed to disappear again.

Sighing in frustration, Jyn pushes her hair away from her face and takes off in search of him, determined to find out what's wrong and help him have a good time if it ends up killing them both.

XXX

Chirrut slips away from the party as the sun is setting, following a path he's never walked before but that the Force shows him as smooth and necessary.

"Where are you going?" Baze's voice comes from behind him, backed by all the noise of a people finally glimpsing the end of a long and difficult journey.

"Where I need to be." Chirrut doesn't slow down. "You do the same."

Baze sighs, but his footsteps sound behind Chirrut—soft, barely audible shushing through the leaves and underbrush.

Chirrut smells the fire first, then hears its crackle, and finally feels its heat pressing against him. Someone is burning on the pyre, the smell of human flesh baking as unmistakable as the reek of plastic and metal fighting the flame.

"Chirrut?" Luke's voice is quiet and puzzled. "Baze?"

Chirrut turns towards the young man, frowning in surprise. He had felt no sense of Luke in the Force. "Hello, Luke."

"How did you..." Luke cuts himself off, and Chirrut feels a flicker of Luke's fiery presence, there and then gone. "No, don't answer that. I know this one. The Force led you."

"See, Baze? He learns so quickly and well." Chirrut smiles in the direction he can hear Luke's voice emanating from. "Today has been a difficult day of many changes in the Force."

"No. The Force always stays the same. But the repercussions of what happened..." Luke comes closer, brushing his hand against Chirrut's shoulder to give Chirrut a better sense of where he is. The fire and heat are making it harder than usual for the echobox to give Chirrut a clear picture of his surroundings. "How much did you feel?"

Baze speaks up. "Let's start with nothing, like a normal person, and go from there."

Chirrut suspects Baze is lying. There had been a moment, in the midst of the fighting, when Baze had gone still and quiet—a moment when the steady flow of the Force had been disturbed by clashing waves of light and dark, hope and despair. Baze's answer gives Luke a chance to talk, though, and Chirrut suspects Luke badly needs it.

"This is my father's body." Luke moves closer to the fire.

An outstretched hand keeps Baze from grabbing Luke to pull him back. Chirrut doesn't think Luke is in danger of doing something foolish, and sometimes it's good to feel the fire's heat.

"I told him I would save him." Luke's voice grows harsher, choked with emotion. "That I would get him out of there. And I did. In every way I could, I did."

"That..." Baze hesitates, then plunges ahead. "That's Darth Vader's armor."

"Yes." There's a fragility to the way Luke answers the question, a hesitant uncertainty. Chirrut doesn't think it would be there with others—doesn't think Luke would have hesitated to tell some random infantryman that Darth Vader was his father. Sometimes familiarity and affection mean an increased possibility of pain, though, and an increased hesitance. "He was Darth Vader. He murdered countless thousands. Millions, maybe. He tortured Leia. He tortured Han and sold him to the highest bidder. He was a monster."

Chirrut reaches out, laying his hand against Luke's upper arm. "But he was your father."

"There was still light in him. Still..." Luke draws a shuddering breath. "I _saw_ it. Maybe just because I wanted it to be there, but it was real. He _saved_ me. He killed the Emperor to save me."

"And in return you saved him. Gave him a chance to find the light again—gave him a chance to reject, finally, the darkness." Chirrut is starting to see the outline of what happened, to put the pieces of what he felt earlier together into a coherent pattern, and his heart breaks a bit for the young man he's helped teach. "And now you give him a proper funeral."

"Now I give him a proper funeral." Luke's shoulders tense. "Do you think it's wrong of me? To want to do this for him? To have promised to save him? To... to be happy that I was right?"

"No." Chirrut answers first, when it seems that Baze won't. "There is never shame in celebrating when someone has chosen the better path."

Chirrut can feel Luke's body shifting, can imagine the way Luke and Baze are studying each other—Luke looking for reassurance, Baze deciding whether or not forgiveness is possible.

If they reach a conclusion, it's a silent one.

Luke's voice is quiet when he begins talking again. "I know I should go back to the celebration. That people will want to see me, and hear what happened. But I just... everything still feels _raw_. Like everyone's life... like it's too _bright_."

"You faced down two Sith today." As Luke opens himself back to the Force, more and more with every step of the conversation, Chirrut can feel the toll that the battle took on him. "Giving yourself time to grieve and rest isn't a crime."

"Yeah. And this needed to be done." Luke takes a step back from the fire, his feet sounding heavy on the ground. "Anakin Skywalker needed a funeral. And Darth Vader needed to be destroyed, so no one tries to take up the mantle again."

There is nothing Luke could do that will stop others from misusing symbols, and Darth Vader has become a powerful symbol of both the Empire and the Sith. There's nothing to be gained by pointing that out, though, so instead Chirrut retreats until the blaze of the fire is just a pleasant faint warmth against his face. "Would you like us to leave you alone? Or would you like to meditate?"

"I'd..." Luke trails behind Chirrut. "Would you mind doing some meditation? Just for a few minutes. Just while I try to decide what all this means."

Chirrut doesn't answer in words, instead settling down, laying his staff out next to him.

Baze joins them. He doesn't always, but Chirrut is glad he does for this—even happier when the sense he gets from Baze is contemplative and hopeful rather than furious or hurt as it often is.

Luke opens himself up slowly as they run through the ritual of the meditation, but by the time they're done his signature in the Force is as strong and sure as ever.

"If you say he was redeemed..." Baze speaks as they're all busy hauling themselves back to their feet. "Then I believe you. Because you're optimistic and kind, but you're no one's fool."

"Thanks, Baze." Luke's voice shifts, and Chirrut smiles, knowing that Baze has been given an unexpected hug.

"Now go." Chirrut gestures back towards the celebration. "I suspect your sister will be looking for you, and you've earned this celebration as much as the rest of them."

"As you command, teacher." The sound of Luke's footsteps retreating back towards the celebration reassures Chirrut that his suggestion is being followed.

"...Sister?"

Chirrut smiles serenely up at Baze. "Oh, had I not mentioned my suspicions? Suspicions his acceptance has now confirmed, I do believe."

Tonight has been a night of changes, but Chirrut thinks, as he puts his hand on Baze's arm and they walk back towards the roar of happy people, that it has been a night of _good_ changes.

XXX

Jyn is looking for Cassian when she quite literally runs into General Organa.

"Sorry." Leia smiles at Jyn, her dress swaying around her ankles. "That was my fault. I wasn't paying attention. Have you seen Luke?"

"No, but I haven't seen Chirrut and Baze, so he might be with them." Jyn shrugs. "Have you seen Cassian?"

Leia gives her head an apologetic shake. "I'll keep an eye out for him. Is everything all right?"

"Yeah." Jyn hesitates, feeling her shoulders slump. She doesn't usually trust people in authority, but somehow Leia had quickly become an exception. "Maybe? I don't know. He wasn't... he didn't seem happy, and then he made himself scarce."

A frown causes creases to appear on Leia's forehead. "That doesn't sound like him. Usually once a mission's over he's glued to your side. Or the side of _someone_ in Rogue One."

"That's why I'm looking for him." Jyn kicks at the ground, a flare of irritation rising up. "Though I don't know _why_ he's not happy. This was a textbook-perfect mission. None of us got hurt. We did what needed to be done. And the _Emperor died_. This is huge. This is _victory_ for the New Republic."

"Which is hard for some of those here to process."

Mon Mothma's voice causes Jyn to startle, jumping a half foot in the air and a good foot to the side.

Mothma smiles at her, and Jyn tries not to feel like a dirty and irascible child. For some reason Mothma took a liking to Jyn after Scarif. Jyn's never been sure why, or how to respond to it. "Ah... good morning, Senator. Evening."

"The two times of day tend to bleed into one another for us." Mothma is holding a glass daintily between both hands. "I'm glad to see so many celebrating, but I'm not surprised some are finding it difficult to do so. For some of these people, the war has been their whole life. Who are they without it? What will they do without it?"

Jyn shrugs. "Find something else. Lots of options out there."

"Indeed there are." Mothma smiles gently again. "Leia, I believe I saw Skywalker coming out of the forest to the west, along with our two Guardians of the Whills."

Jyn doesn't protest that Baze wouldn't want to be called a Guardian. He was just as instrumental as Chirrut was in helping Skywalker come to a basic understanding of the Force—fire and pain and furious rage to balance Chirrut's teachings about calm and acceptance. Whatever else it may have done, the lessons helped salve over Baze's pain from Jedha.

Mothma turns to Jyn. "And I saw Colonal Andor off to the east, if you were looking for him...?"

Jyn tries not to flush. "Thanks. I'm, uh... thanks. I'll see you both around."

Jyn retreats before she has to say anything more to Mothma. Though the woman has never been anything but kind to her—has seemed to take Jyn on as a personal project—Jyn never knows quite how to act with her.

Besides, the sooner she gets to where Cassian was spotted, the more likely she is to actually find him in that general vicinity.

XXX

Cassian never moves far from the revels.

He doesn't know why it's so hard to settle into the spirit of celebration. It's not like he hasn't done this before. He wasn't in any kind of shape to celebrate following the battle of Yavin, sure, but he had been at medal ceremonies before. He celebrated when they founded the base on Hoth; he drank along with Rogue One and a handful of older friends when they survived the evacuation of Hoth.

He should want to celebrate now. Skywalker swears that the Emperor is dead. They've helped defeat another Death Star. The information Cassian's people died to obtain, though tainted, has helped prevent more tragedies like Jedha and Scarif and Alderaan.

So why can't he relax?

Why does he feel like he needs to be alert? Like he needs to watch how much he's drinking, because if _someone_ isn't watching the perimeter (and he _knows_ there are people on guard duty, he knows but it doesn't _matter_ ), awful things will happen?

Since he doesn't know what's wrong with him he retreats to the edge of the revelry, not wanting to bring Bodhi or Jyn down into his spiral of anxiety.

Jyn manages to find him, anyway, and he can tell by the look on her face that she's irritated.

Cassian winces, but he doesn't try to run. Trying to escape when it's clear Jyn has been looking for him will just make her furious.

" _There_ you are." Jyn marches up to him, her eyes scanning his body before she stands with both hands on her hips.

"Here I am." Cassian spreads his arms, smiling as charmingly as he can at Jyn. It's a smile that's helped him get secrets he shouldn't have—a smile that puts people at ease, that invites confidences and confessions.

It just causes Jyn to narrow her eyes. "Why? What's going on?"

Cassian opens his mouth, hesitates, and then closes it again with a shrug. "I don't know."

The honest admission douses some of the irritation in Jyn's eyes, and she takes a step closer to him, reaching out to touch his shoulder. "Try to work it out?"

"It just..." Cassian hesitates, feeling the beating of the native's drums as a counterpoint to his own heartbeat. "It doesn't feel real. Any of this. Nothing since the battle. Since Mothma announced the death of the Emperor."

Jyn slides closer, her arm slipping around his neck. "Any idea why?"

"If I knew why, I would make it stop." For a few seconds Cassian tries to hold himself rigid. Then he gives in to Jyn's embrace, resting his head against her shoulder. "But I can't. So I'm just trying not to make anyone else lose the celebration."

"We're going to worry about you, you know." Jyn's fingers stroke through his hair, tugging gently. "Me. Bodhi. Baze and Chirrut, and Force knows if K-2 finds you skulking about he'll throw a fit."

"K-2 is currently busy getting his arm reattached." Perhaps Cassian should have stayed with K-2. The droid had been the most serious injury the team took, and K-2 had insisted there was no reason for Cassian to stay and miss the "ridiculous organic celebration", so Cassian had accompanied the rest of the team. "He can't throw a fit about anything until that's done."

"You are desperately underestimating him in that case." Jyn's lips brush against Cassian's cheek.

"Perhaps." An honest smile comes to rest on Cassian's lips as he considers his friend. "I don't know, Jyn. I just..."

"Don't know how to process that the war might be over?" Jyn arches one eyebrow.

Cassian shakes his head. "The war isn't over. Not even remotely."

"Pretty dark words coming from the man who was betting everything on hope when I first met him." Jyn rests her head against him in turn, her words softer, almost buried under the music.

"Not dark. Just realistic. We're still going to be fighting for a while. But maybe..." Cassian hesitates. "Maybe... there will actually be an end. With the Emperor gone..." It _almost_ feels real, this time, and Cassian has to put his hand against a tree to ensure the ground isn't moving. "If the New Republic plays things right, this might actually be the end."

"And that's frightening." Jyn whispers the words against Cassian's skin. "That's hard to accept."

_I've been in this fight since I was six years old._ Cassian doesn't talk about his youth or his home planet. There's too much pain in the past, not enough reasons to dredge it up. He always hears himself shouting those words back at Jyn during times like this, though—hears himself trying to defend the indefensible, to show her his hurt as she lashed out at him with hers.

"You know I'm not going anywhere, right?" Jyn pulls back a little. "Or at least, I'm not going anywhere without you. The others, too, if we all decide to go together."

"And where would we go?" The words sound a little too desperate despite Cassian's attempts to make them casual. "What do we do?"

"Anything. Everything." Jyn stands up on tip-toe, trying to look him square in the eye. It's not necessary. Whenever Jyn is fired up like this she radiates passion, energy, fire and need—rivets him in spot with just a look or a touch. "Cassian, if the war ends we can do _everything_."

Reaching out to stroke a hand through Jyn's hair, Cassian is surprised to find himself smiling. "Everything?"

"At least once." Jyn grins. "Now come on. Dance with me? Please?"

Cassian doesn't fight Jyn leading him back into the throng of celebration, and as he twirls around one of the fires with her—feels its heat against his back, smells the sweet odor of the burning wood—he begins to hope this is real after all.

XXX

Bodhi stumbles his way back towards Rogue One's shuttle late—or perhaps early is a better word, since he's fairly certain the sun is trying to rise. He hadn't intended to be away from his team for so long, but Wedge and the rest of Rogue Squadron had dragged him into their celebrations, and Bodhi hadn't had the heart to split off.

Not that he didn't keep track of his crew. He knows that Jyn kept Cassian with her for the majority of the evening. He knows that Baze and Chirrut went into the forest and returned with Luke, who then spent most of the evening with Leia and Han. He knows that K-2 joined the celebration, arm reattached, about halfway through the night.

And he knows that it's time for them to reunite now, though he's not sure how. Perhaps this is how the Force works for those who can't feel it properly. Just a feeling, a sense that it's time to move from one place to the next, and Bodhi is content enough to follow it.

It's not like he _belongs_ with Rogue Squadron, anyway. They took the call sign that he created in a moment of panic and have made it something special—something wondrous. They made it into the call sign of the squadron that defies death, that rekindles hope—the call sign that Luke Skywalker, first of a new order of Jedi, uses when he's flying. And they've never forgotten that Bodhi was the first one who used it.

_You're Rogue One, my friend._ Wedge was smiling when he clapped Bodhi on the back. _And you always will be. We know how much you bled at Scarif to save the rebellion._ You _may think you're just a shuttle pilot, but the rest of us know better._

Bodhi gives his head a little shake. Maybe he's not _just_ a shuttle pilot. A shuttle pilot wouldn't have volunteered to come to Endor. A shuttle pilot wouldn't have been comfortable participating in the quick run to Endor's surface, or holding a blaster, or rigging explosives, and Bodhi has done all of those things in the last twenty hours.

He is more than a shuttle pilot, now. He is a rebel, with the motley collection of skills that comes with it. (He is a man who sees battles in his nightmares, but if that is the cost of saving the universe—of getting justice for Jedha, of making up for Galen's crimes, for _Bodhi's_ own crimes even if those were crimes of simply not questioning enough—then so be it.)

Bodhi isn't the only one who's decided to return to the shuttle. He finds Jyn and Cassian curled together under a blanket, both soldiers blinking woozily up at him when he clambers up the ramp and into the shuttle.

Before Bodhi can decide whether he wants to offer to leave or not, Chirrut's voice comes from behind him. "We have beautiful timing, don't you think?"

Baze gives his head an exasperated shake, but he follows Chirrut up into the shuttle.

Bodhi settles down in one of passenger seats, eyes moving from Chirrut to Jyn.

Jyn stretches, seeming comfortable and content in her skin. "Everyone have a good evening?"

"It was... enlightening. Even when it was less than ideal." Chirrut smiles, fingers flicking first towards Jyn and then towards Cassian.

"Enlightening is a good word." Jyn smirks down at Cassian, who frowns slightly as he shucks the blanket off and straightens his clothes. A low laugh rumbles out of Jyn's throat. "In a lot of ways. Also you and Baze owe me, Bodhi. General Organa made a decision finally, and it was the smuggler."

"She—" Bodhi sighs, slouching down in her seat. "Really? But she and Luke had so much in common."

Chirrut chuckles, smiling up at the ceiling. "A bit too much in common, I believe. It turns out Skywalker is her twin brother."

"Oh." Bodhi stares at Chirrut. "Are—you're _sure_?"

Baze grimaces. "Luke is sure."

Silence settles over them for a few seconds, broken by Jyn clearing her throat. "That's... awkward. Hopefully not _too_ awkward, but I'm going to stop thinking about it now. You still owe me, though."

"I don't try to shirk on my debts, little sister." Baze settles his weapon into a corner of the shuttle.

"I know. I was just thinking, given that the war might be winding down now..." Jyn reaches out to lay a hand on Cassian's knee.

Cassian laces his fingers through hers. "I keep telling you it won't be _that_ abrupt. But... perhaps... if others would be interested... it would be worth thinking about what we might want to do when the war is over."

"Over." Bodhi closes his eyes, drawing a deep breath. "It's so hard to imagine it being _over_ , but I want it to be true so badly."

"It will end." Chirrut speaks with calm certainty. "And having a plan for when it does would be a good idea."

The sound of something heavy on the ramp draws Bodhi's attention, and he turns to see K-2SO climbing towards them.

"Are we discussing plans?" K-2 turns his attention to Cassian, and despite it being physically impossible Bodhi would swear he looks hurt. "Without me?"

"Never." Cassian pats the ground next to him. "Just discussing the possibility of discussing plans. I figured you'd be bored by the redundancy and organic silliness of that and figured we'd just find you when the time was right."

"Ah." K-2 moves to settles himself next to Cassian. "An acceptable compromise."

"Shall we begin the discussion, then?" Chirrut leans forward, his hands on his knees. "Because I have quite a few options I've been considering."

They talk for what must be hours, until the day is bright, the sounds of life coming from the rebel encampment loud enough to filter in through the open door. Some of them speak more than other—Baze is his usual quiet self, and Cassian seems hesitant and uncertain of his suggestions. K-2 doesn't speak much, either, simply asserting that if they leave and he deems it important to follow, he will do so.

When their orders come, Bodhi is ready to fly. He could use some sleep, certainly, but there is something _energizing_ about considering what the future might hold now—a sense that possibilities are opening up.

He shouldn't get complacent. Cassian is almost certainly right in his assertions that all the fighting isn't over. But still... they're all still alive. They've outlived the Emperor. They've outlived Darth Vader. They're going to be here to watch the Jedi rebuild—to watch organizations like the Guardians rise up again out of the shadows.

As Bodhi fires up the ship's engines, he smiles out at the towering trees, squinting against the sun's orange light.

They have hope—the stuff that rebellions are built on. The stuff that _futures_ are built on.

And right now, the future is looking pretty damn good.


End file.
